


Brothers in Arms

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-28
Updated: 2004-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-31 05:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6456952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU AtS S5.  Spike and Wes make friends; Wes and Fred get together.  Threesome fun is had, after a long rationalization thereof.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers in Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

Wesley staggered into Wolfram & Hart at two a.m., counting himself lucky to meet only security guards who didn’t hesitate to get out of the way at his glare. He made it to his office without incident and fell into a chair gratefully. He was about to relax when a voice came out of the shadows.

“You all right there, Percy?”

Wesley’s head snapped up. Spike. “I’m fine,” he said stiffly. Then, more sharply, “How did you get in?”

Spike’s teeth, startling even in human guise, gleamed in the dim light. He held up something that glinted softly. “Angel’s key. It’s a master.”

“So you’re a thief now?”

The vampire made a derisive noise. “And you’re a liar. I can smell the blood from here, you know. Quite a bit of it. What’d you do, juggle your steak knives?”

Suddenly Wesley was too tired to put up a front. “Nest of vampires on 6th. It’s been taken care of.” He couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice on this last.

Spike came closer. “You went alone?” At the man’s look, he continued, “Why?”

Wesley glared again, but Spike just glared back at him until the man sighed. “I… had some issues to work out.”

“With a stake?”

“Stake, crossbow, fists, what have you.”

Spike decided that line of questioning was useless; besides, he had a pretty good idea why. He’d seen Fred leave tonight with Knox, and he’d seen Wesley watch them go. He shifted to the practical. “How many?”

“Five.”

Spike arched an eyebrow in appreciation. Watcher must’ve gotten the drop on them, but still… he was literally only human. No wonder he looked sliced and diced. “Are you bitten?”

The man winced. “No. A couple of them had knives.”

“Ah.” Spike circled closer, peering at him. “Take off your shirt.”

“What?” Wesley scooted his chair back involuntarily. “Absolutely not!”

Spike leered at him for a second, then threw back his head and laughed. “Watcher, if I was trying to seduce you, I’d’ve told you to doff your *pants*.” When the man still didn’t move, he sighed. “Let me have a look at the wounds. I’ve been sliced up a few times myself, you know.”

“Spike, just go. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Wesley.” The man blinked at the use of his given name. “You can’t reach the ones around back without hurting yourself worse, and at least one is gonna need stitches. I figure you don’t want to go to hospital, or you’d be there already. Now, do you want help, or do you want -,” he had been going to say ‘to suffer’, but he realized in a moment of clarity that that was exactly what Wesley wanted. He changed it to “ – everyone to know tomorrow?”

Wesley subsided. “Point taken.” Sitting forward awkwardly, he began to remove his shirt.

“Hold on a sec. I’ll go nick some supplies from the infirmary.”

“How…? Right. The key.” Spike left and Wes finished taking off his shirt, painfully. Some of the blood had dried and glued the material to his skin. He pried it off with a grimace, then looked up as Spike returned with a large box.

“Stand up.” Wes complied and Spike walked around him slowly, surveying the damage. He hesitated, then said, “Look. I brought a basin and cloth to wash those. But… well, surely one of those Watcher Diaries said something about the healing properties of vamp saliva?”

Wes frowned. “I thought that was a myth. Are you… are you suggesting that you *lick* my wounds?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Is that a good idea? I mean, human blood?”

He sighed in exasperation. “I don’t drink humans because I don’t want to, not because I can’t get blood. And,” he added as inspiration struck, “are you gonna tell me Angel’s never had a drop of your pure blue?”

Wes gave in. “Fine.” He made a face. “Lick me.”

Spike looked at him. “Close your eyes.”

Wes eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

The vampire looked aggrieved. “Cause I feel stupid with you looking at me, that’s why.”

“Oh. Right.” He opened one eye again briefly. “Don’t suck.”

“Not even if you begged.”

That actually made Wes smile, and he shivered only slightly as Spike’s cool tongue explored his lacerations. It hurt at first, but after about a minute most of the smaller cuts started to feel better. Then only the deeper cuts remained, and Spike paused before continuing. “Brace yourself.” He applied his lips to the gash on Wes’s back and gently cleaned it, sucking and licking until he could no longer taste any dirt in the blood. He stopped immediately, not wanting to think about the taste of the blood itself. He looked up to find Wes flushed and breathing hard. “You all right?”

Wes focused on him and said grimly, “I will be.” Then, “Are you done?”

Spike stood. “With the licking, yeah. That slice on your back still needs stitches. Got any whisky?”

“What? Oh, of course. Ethanol is an antiseptic.”

“No, that’s what the spit was for. The whisky’s for drinking. You’re gonna need it.” Wesley gestured to the sideboard, and Spike grabbed a bottle from the cabinet underneath. “Nice stash.” He took a drink before handing it to Wes.

“Mm, yes. I keep it for clients.” Wes took several long pulls, then motioned Spike to proceed. “Go on. I don’t wish to be here all night.”

The vampire nodded, then began carefully sewing the flesh back together. Luckily, the knife had been sharp and the edges clean. It wasn’t really that difficult, except… “Could you not do that?” Spike snapped.

“I’m not doing – Spike, you do realize that I *need* to breathe?”

“Oh. Right.” He smiled sheepishly. “I forgot. Never really done this on a *living* person before.”

“That’s immensely reassuring.” Wes took advantage of Spike’s pause to drink some more whisky. The alcohol was starting to hit him, a small mercy for which he was deeply grateful.

“All right.” Spike finished tying off the stitching and applied adhesive gauze over most of the cuts. Wes looked down, dissatisfied. 

“They’ll take longer to heal that way.”

“Yes, but the glue will mask the scent of blood. Use enough aftershave tomorrow and don’t get too close to Angel and maybe he won’t notice.”

“Oh.” Wes put a hand on the shorter man’s shoulder and looked at him steadily. “Spike. Thank you.”

Spike looked away, embarrassed. “Right. You’ll owe me one.”

Wes nodded and stepped away, but swayed precariously. He frowned at the whisky bottle. “I didn’t have that much.”

“Blood loss, mate. And…” Spike sniffed him theatrically. “You didn’t have dinner.”

“That whole sniffing thing really isn’t fair,” Wes complained. The petulance in his own voice startled him; he squared his shoulders before moving on. He shrugged back into his shirt carefully, examining the bloodstains. “I think this shirt is a total loss.”

“Unless you’re going for the I-got-beat-up-in-an-alley look,” Spike agreed. “You keep any clothes here?”

It wasn’t quite a non sequitur. Wes replied after a second, “Yes, for emergencies. There’s a hidden closet in the bookcase.”

“Well, pick out a change and come on.”

“Where do you think I’m going, Spike? This shirt will do to get me home.”

“How? You’re too drunk to take your bike, and if you use a company car Angel will know. Ditto for sleeping on the couch here.” Spike sighed. “Angel gave me rooms upstairs. Come take my bed; I’ll sleep on the couch. You’ll get more sleep that way anyway. No transit time.”

"And if Angel sees me leave your rooms tomorrow?”

“Worst-case scenario? I’ll tell him you came up for a drink, we got to exchanging war stories, and you were too sloshed to drive.” Wes looked skeptical, but Spike dropped his voice and continued, “Sounds a lot less pathetic than getting drunk in your office alone and passing out on the couch. Which is what they’ll all think if you stay here.” Suddenly he grinned. “Besides, the idea of us getting to be pals will worry Peaches no end. That’s worth it in itself.”

Wesley regarded him seriously. “I think he may have to get used to it.”

***

Spike frowned as the knocking continued with no indication of stopping. Clearly whoever it was wasn’t going to go away and let him sleep. He got up and answered the door. Wesley stood there.

“Percy? You have any idea what time it is?”

“You’re a vampire. Aren’t you generally awake at night?”

Spike looked mildly abashed. “This place – the windows and all – it throws you off.”

“Oh. I see.” Belatedly remembering his manners, Wes began to apologize. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized. I’ll go.”

Spike stepped back, the welcome implicit. “No, it’s fine. You’re here, I’m up. What did you want? A drink? A smoke? Obscure information about Angelus’s old exploits?”

Wes grinned in a not entirely nice way. “None of the above. There’s a gang of Fyarl demons terrorizing the garment district. The report won’t reach Angel’s desk until tomorrow morning. That gives us… seven hours. Interested?”

“Fascinated. Fyarls, huh? Tough bastards. You got silver?”

“Plated axe, sword, and two daggers. Plus -,” Wes nudged the jacket away from his hip to expose the 9mm, “ – a clip of silver bullets.”

“That’s cheating.”

“Mm. Last resort. I don’t have a death wish.”

Spike kept himself from looking suddenly avid, but that was new. It was a good sign. As was the fact that he was asking Spike to come along.

“Spike?” Wes placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you in?”

The vampire grabbed his duster and shrugged it on. “Are you still… working out your issues?”

Wesley’s open, comradely expression became suddenly closed. He looked abruptly dangerous. “Have you none of your own?”

Spike thought about it. “Right. Let’s go kill things.”

***

It quickly became a pattern. Every couple of weeks, Wes would show up at his door with a lead on some nasty demons and they’d saddle up. Sometimes they’d get hurt (although less often than before: Wes was more circumspect when he wasn’t alone), but never seriously, and they became expert at patching each other up as invisibly as possible. After a while, they got to be drinking buddies as well, and sometimes Wes would appear with a bottle instead of a weapon. Eventually Spike took to showing up at Wesley’s door; they both felt more comfortable there, out of Angel’s shadow.

Gradually they learned to talk to one another. They had both gotten used to being alone, or at best, with women they were sleeping with: basic male companionship was an almost-forgotten novelty. And they could talk about women. It wasn’t as if Wes could talk to Gunn about Fred, or Spike reminisce with Angel about Buffy. But Wes remembered bright, golden, sardonic Buffy, and Spike knew sweet, smart, intense Fred. Those were the nights they drank the most.

And then there was the night the elevator doors opened on the main floor and exposed Fred and Knox practically *en flagrante*. That night Wes went out alone and started a brawl in a demon bar. If Spike hadn’t followed him, the black market would have been selling pieces of him all over L.A. the next morning. As it was, it took the vampire half an hour, a decent selection of weapons, and several bribes to extract the man. He suspected Wes would have resented him for it, if he hadn’t been unconscious.

He took Wesley home. He found the keys in the man’s jacket pocket and let them both in. After dumping Wes on the bed, Spike undressed him carefully, then found the medical supplies in the linen closet. He licked the wounds clean as before, but this time several required stitches, and it was almost impossible to reseat a dislocated shoulder without an assistant or the conscious participation of the patient. He managed to treat everything but the broken ribs, however, after several hours work, and finished by grinding up some old sleeping pills to dissolve them in a glass of water. He forced Wes to drink this when he stirred.

Spike debated with himself about what to do next, but he couldn’t leave Wes alone and he was reluctant to be even so far away as the living room. He wasn’t sure about the dosage on the pills and not at all up on human drug reactions. In the end, he removed his boots, belt, and duster, closed the drapes, and lay down next to Wesley, not touching him. Exhausted by effort and worry, he fell asleep almost instantly.

Wesley woke to pain, and despair. “I’m not dead,” he remarked disappointedly to no one in particular.

“Not for lack of trying,” commented a sarcastic and irritated voice from about eight inches away.

Startled, he turned his head to face the voice, and immediately regretted it. “Goddamn it. And – Spike.” He closed his eyes again. “I presume I have you to thank for this.”

“Wasn’t really expecting it, but yeah.”

“What are you doing here? I mean, in my bed?”

Spike hitched one shoulder in a shrug. “Wanted to make sure you didn’t stop breathing on me. I didn’t spend all night saving your ass just to have you die in your sleep.”

“Why did you bother?” Strangely, the despair seemed muted into a kind of dispassionate curiosity.

It inspired instant anger in the vampire. “Oh, come off it, Watcher. You didn’t really want to die – you just wanted to get hurt good and proper so you could think about the pain and not the girl for a while. Well, congratulations, you’ve done a bang-up job of it.”

Wes didn’t respond, choosing instead to stare mutinously at the ceiling.

Spike went on. “And if you did want to die – tough. Suicide’s *easy*, you tosser. You’re gone, done, and everybody else is left to pick up the pieces. Well, not this time. You may be that blasted selfish, but I’m not having it.” His eyes were blazing as he continued. “You didn’t get the girl. It’s not right, and it’s not fair, but it’s not the end of the world either. And you know what? You don’t snap out of this, sometime soon it might be.”

“It’s not *fair*.” He whispered as if he hadn’t heard any of it, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. A tear escaped anyway.

Spike sighed. “It’s abso-fuckin-lutely not. I’m sorry, mate. I really wish she’d picked you.” Wes’s shoulders shook with silent sobs, and Spike sat up, gently pulling the taller man into his arms. He held him until he fell back to sleep.

***

Weeks later, Wes had healed, and things had pretty much returned to normal. Neither of them referred to that night, and Wes could almost look Knox in the eye. Spike came over one night with a bottle of Scotch, and found Wes just arriving himself.

“Hey. Long day?”

“Mm. There was a tricky bit of scrying to be done, so I joined the casting.” He opened the door. “Make yourself at home. I’ve got to have a shower; it feels like I’m coated in heliotrope and cumin.”

Spike grimaced. “Is that what that is? Please, go ahead. You’re making my nose do the lambada.”

Wesley paused to quirk an eyebrow. “What a ghastly image.”

“This from a man who’s waded knee-deep in J’rroth mucus.”

“Touché.” He vanished into the bathroom.

Spike grabbed a couple of glasses and sat down on the couch. He turned on the television and started flipping through channels. News, news, stupid sitcom, bad comedian… wait. He went back a channel to what had caught his eye. He hadn’t been mistaken; it was indeed porn. Pleasantly surprised that the Watcher had this channel, he settled in to watch.

He was completely enthralled by the time Wes emerged from the bathroom, drying his hair. He had donned a pair of black sweats, but was still hunting for a t-shirt to pair them with. Spike looked up and waved him over. “Watcher, come here. You’ve got to see this.”

Wes walked over obediently and glanced at the screen. On it, a redheaded woman was taking an extremely well-endowed man impressively far down her throat. “Spike! What in God’s name are you watching?”

The vampire grinned. “I think it’s fairly obvious. My God, Percy, how long’s it been?”

Wes glared. “Well, change it. It’s disgusting.”

“Disgusting? It *has* been awhile. Besides – it’s your telly. If you don’t like it, why do you have this channel?”

“I don’t.” As evidence was plainly to the contrary, he was forced to correct. “That is, it must be a mistake. I didn’t order it.”

“Well, then, enjoy it while it’s here. C’mon,” Spike wheedled, “Prove to me you’re not this uptight all the time.”

“I don’t have to prove anything to you.” But he sat down all the same, adding, “And it’s hardly fair to call me uptight when -,”

“Shut up and watch. You can pout later.” Spike shoved a glass of Scotch at him, and Wes took a drink. They watched in silence for several minutes. It really was atrocious. Although, if one ignored the pounding music, and the lack of production value, and the complete absence of plot… if one simply focused on the *image*… it was undeniably somewhat erotic. Quite arousing, really. Wesley realized he was uncomfortably hard, and debated shifting his hips to loosen his trousers. He was afraid that Spike would notice. He studied Spike out of the corner of his eye, and saw that the vampire had been similarly affected. He didn’t know whether that made it better or worse.

And then suddenly Spike was much too close, and his hand was on Wesley’s crotch. Wes pressed back into the couch, but couldn’t quite bring himself to tear away and stand up. When he spoke, his voice was low and rough. Dangerous. “What exactly do you think you’re doing, Spike?”

Spike looked at him steadily. “Making an offer.”

“That’s very… generous… of you, Spike, but I don’t really go in for – that is to say, I’m not – I don’t -,”

“Oh, take a breath, Watcher. I’m not accusing you of walking the other side of the street. As for me, I’d much have yonder redhead riding me than any man. But – we seem to be rather lacking in women at the moment. And I for one don’t see that as a reason to go without.”

“So you propose we simply – do whatever feels good?”

“Are you shocked? I may have a soul, but I’m still a vampire. You may have noticed we’re not big on conventional mores?”

“Mm. I suppose. Ah -,” Wes paused to swallow hard. “The motion of your hand as we discuss this is distinctly unfair.”

“Come on.” Spike looked at him in assessment. “You’ve done this before. With men, I mean.”

Wes looked uncomfortable. “Yes. That is – I’ve, ah, *given*, but I’ve never… *received*.”

“How did that happen?”

“The vagaries of an English public school education.”

It was one of the few times when their shared Britishness was of use. Spike understood perfectly. “Oh. Right. But – you’re a tall fellow. Surely it was your turn at some point.”

“I suppose so, but I never could stomach forcing someone.”

Spike stated, without accusation or pity, “You could now.”

“I imagine I could, yes.” He looked introspective for a moment, then shook it off. “But I can’t say the image holds much appeal – some terrified sixth-former sucking my cock…”

Spike laughed, and dropped to his knees in front of Wesley. “What about a willing, century-old vampire?”

“That does sound better.” As Spike pulled the sweats down from his hips, Wes sighed. “We are indeed perverted men.”

“What, for this?”

“No, I suppose this is almost normal.” Wes stiffened as Spike’s fingers found him, and then murmured his last coherent thought for a while. “Remind me sometime to tell you about Justine…” And then he stopped talking.

Spike bent his head and ran his tongue up the length of Wesley’s erect member. Feeling the man shudder, he did this several more times, always stopping just short of the sensitive head. It *had* been too long. Wes opened and closed his hands spasmodically, fighting the urge to grab Spike’s head and hold it still. The vampire smirked and took the tip into his mouth, licking around the edge before finally closing his lips and sucking gently. Wes bucked his hips involuntarily, and Spike put a hand on his thigh to hold him steady. He applied his other hand to the shaft, stroking up and down, then closing firmly around it. Wes tried to hold back, but the cool mouth and cooler hands were pressing in all the right places, and he was quickly losing control. Sensing this, Spike removed his hands, tilted his head back, and took Wesley’s dick as far down his throat as he could, continuing to suck. The man exploded into his mouth, and he swallowed warm, vaguely sweet ejaculate as Wes’s spasms slowly passed and his eyes refocused.

Wes smiled at him as he resumed his seat on the couch. “I never really considered the specific applications of not needing to breathe before. At least not in regards to fellatio. Although I suppose it’s equally useful in cunnilingus – well, nearly. I must say I’m impressed.”

Spike couldn’t help laughing. “So that’s really you, huh? Get you all rosy and relaxed and you go back to talking like a textbook. Under all that flinty-eyed Max Payne getup you’re still a geek at heart.”

“Mm. Well.” A wicked glint returned to Wesley’s eyes. “Stand up and lean on something, and we’ll see what *you’re* like underneath your clothes.”

Spike did so, and Wes knelt before him, unbuckling his jeans and pushing them to his knees. Then Wes applied his warm tongue to a blue vein snaking up the inside of the vampire’s milk-white thigh and followed it to his hipbone. He chose another and another, repeating the process until Spike was moaning. Then he took Spike’s cock into his hot mouth and used his lips and tongue to tease the head while his long, warm fingers traced abstract patterns along Spike’s length. Cold hands tangled in his hair and he allowed himself a brief grin before rededicating himself to the task at hand. Taking Spike as deep as he could, he scraped his teeth lightly on the shaft and used one hand to squeeze Spike’s balls. The shimmering edge of pain combined with the wet heat surrounding him to push Spike over the brink. He came, hard, but maintained enough control to keep his hips still. Wesley swallowed cold, almost refreshing fluid, and reflected that the whole experience was vastly superior to sucking off a sweaty lacrosse hero in a cramped broom closet.

Spike leaned on the wall with his eyes closed for a minute, then reached out and pulled Wes to his feet. Hesitantly, he applied a brief kiss to the man’s lips and was surprised when Wes merely smiled and slung an arm around his waist. “Of course,” Wesley murmured. “William was a poet.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“As was my tenure as Head Boy,” Wes replied dryly. He glanced at the television, now displaying several women variously pleasuring one another. They were all possessed of remarkable breasts and forgettable faces. He frowned in distaste. “Turn that crap off.”

“And do what?” It was amazing, the things Spike could suggest just by raising an eyebrow.

Wes sighed. “Come to bed, if you want. In our current… spirit of honesty… I confess I’ve a dislike of sleeping alone, sometimes.”

Spike didn’t have a comeback to that one. He followed Wesley into the bedroom, stripped, and lay down. Wes joined him, and they slept.

***

In due course, everyone at Wolfram and Hart became accustomed to the unlikely friendship. Gunn found himself to be slightly envious, but in truth he and Wes had been estranged since that long-ago night at the ballet, and his new lawyer upgrade had hardly brought them closer. Angel was downright jealous, but despite extensive shared past, he had no real claim on either of them, and both had cause to resent him. Of them all, only Lorne really understood; but then he had always seen how similar they were under the personas they had created.

Fred was delighted by the development. Spike’s companionship seemed to have stabilized Wesley: he was operating on a much more even keel and sometimes looked almost at ease. And Spike pitched in to help much more willingly when it was Wes asking (as opposed to Angel ordering). She, like everyone else, was unaware of the physical dimension of their relationship, but it was really a non-issue even for them. They weren’t lovers; they simply included relief from sexual tension as a tenet of their friendship. It was more a form of extreme non-homophobia, or a literal definition of ‘fuckbuddy’.

It was understood between them that this was simply a stopgap measure between bouts of willing female companionship. There wasn’t much of that on the horizon, though, and both Harmony and picking up one-night stands in bars palled quickly. They found themselves, for the most part, content to drift along as they were.

Before anything occurred to derail this drifting, something else happened. Fred and Knox broke up. There was no particular reason; they simply reached the end of whatever it was they’d had. Spike privately suspected that they had simply been too alike – Knox, very slightly less genius than Fred, was nevertheless knowledgeable in all the same areas. He was incapable of broadening her horizons. Quite simply, Spike figured he had bored her. Even a quantum physicist can’t think about mesons and fermions twenty-four seven. Spike couldn’t share this theory, however, as Wesley was resolutely ignoring the whole subject.

Spike was in fact worried about Wes. He hadn’t turned cartwheels at the news, but even that might have been more reassuring. He seemed to have folded in upon himself, and whatever he was thinking was hidden deeper than even Spike was allowed to go. Spike knew he was poised on that knife-edge of hope again, and hope could cut deeper than anything else. He had thought perhaps Wes was over Fred, but he saw now that had been naïve. To think that, when a sideways glimpse of a blonde on the street could send him running for a fifth. Well, at least he’d had his girl, for a while.

So Wes hoped, and brooded, and Spike watched. And then, one night, everything fell into place. Everyone was pulling an all-nighter on various projects, and due to an accident in the lab Fred was forced to seek alternate workspace. Wesley’s office was empty, Wes being tied up in the source-book room, so she took over his computer and spread out her stuff. When Wes returned to find her ensconced, he offered to grab his reference books and go, but she told him not to be silly; there was plenty of space.

So Wes settled in at his desk, and Fred occupied the corner with the computer. After a while, frustrated by a simulation program that refused to accurately model the surface drag on wooden projectiles incised with runic symbols, she decided to take a break, and looked up. Her eyes were immediately drawn to Wesley, sitting behind his desk, half-in, half-out of the pool of light cast by his desk lamp. The interplay of shadow and light threw his face into sharp relief, dividing it severely in two, reminding her of the optical illusion that showed an old or young woman depending on how you looked at it. The shadowed side of his face looked dangerous, almost sinister; the light side merely intense and weary. Interested in spite of herself, she realized she wanted him to look up, so that she could see what that did to his face. She gazed at him, willing him to look at her.

He didn’t. He did, however, comment without looking up. “If you’re trying to read this proto-Mayan spellbook directly from my brain, I theorize that it will probably come across translated, but only if you manage to establish the initial telepathic link.” He raised his head and met her eyes. “And while I hesitate to underestimate you, as far as I know you lack any latent psychic ability.”

Fred knew what she was going to do for almost five seconds before she actually did it, and she discovered to her surprise that five seconds was an ample amount of time to think of several possibly catastrophic consequences, but still not quite enough time to come up with an ironclad excuse for doing it. That, she noted in some detached part of her brain, was really very unfortunate. And then she was out of the chair, around the desk, and pressing her lips to Wesley’s.

If Spike had taught him anything, it was to seize the moment. So Wes didn’t stop to consider why Fred was kissing him, or what she meant by it, or if she might stop at any moment. He knew that there would be plenty of time to think about all this later, when Fred had come to her senses and he was once again alone. What he did at the moment she kissed him was kiss back. He did that for as long as he could, but his back was bent at an awkward angle, and their position hardly seemed comfortable for her either. He stood, slowly, without breaking the kiss, and backed her into the desk. She sat on the edge, allowing him to bend forward and brace his hands on either side of her. Wes then changed the angle of the kiss, taking it deeper, using his tongue to stake a claim to her. She responded with ardor, bringing her arms up to lock around his neck and hold him to her.

Aroused almost beyond sense, Wes knew that he had to have her now. He debated trying to transition to the couch, but gave up the idea when Fred moved her hands from his neck to his butt. He stepped closer, nudging her knees apart, and pressed her body to his as he used one arm to sweep everything he could reach off of the desk. Three ancient books, a stack of papers, a jar of pens, and a telephone crashed to the floor.  
Ignoring that, he laid her gently back onto the blotter and tried not to reflect on how much this resembled that awful film Spike had made him watch last week…

Wes’s fear that Fred was feeling pressured evaporated as she reached up and undid the buttons on his shirt. Smiling at him, she began trailing open-mouthed kisses over his chest. He closed his eyes in appreciation, then opened them to regard the puzzle of her blouse. He could complete a Saturday New York Times crossword in half an hour, but this stumped him. It didn’t seem to have any *fastenings*. Frustrated, he slid his hands under the material, bracing his palms on her ribcage and using his thumbs to stroke her nipples. Her eyes widened (his hands were *cold*, though after a second she found that added to the sensation), and she reached behind her to unhook the necessary bits. Her top fell away entirely, and he bent his head to her breasts, licking the aureole and suckling the tips until they stood up, deep rose and hard.

Fred played idly with his hair as he attended to her breasts, but when she could focus again she moved her hands to unfasten his slacks. She did so quickly, pushing them down, and explored with her fingers until she found his cock, engorged with blood and clearly ready for her. He groaned and pushed her back, joining her on the desk and slipping one hand up her skirt to the juncture of her thighs. He pushed aside the scrap of silk he found there and was grateful to find her soaked: he couldn’t wait any longer. Fred hauled his head back to hers, and he pushed her skirt up roughly. Positioning himself between her legs, he took a deep breath, and buried himself in her.

He stilled his hips for a moment, though his tongue plunged in and out of her mouth in an effective preview. Sheathed tightly in her soft warmth, he began to thrust slowly, trying to avoid banging her head against the desk. She hooked her arms under his and over his shoulders, digging her fingernails in to hold him as close to her as possible. Locked together as they were, he found it impossible to move without moving them both. He paused, then sat partially up, pulling his shirt the rest of the way off to ball it up and place it under her head. Smiling at the absurdity of this gesture, she replaced her arms, then arched her hips up to remind him of what he was doing.

Wes gasped as her movement took him even deeper. Giving up all hope of impressing her with his technique, he began to move back and forth, slowly increasing his speed, trying to give her as much pleasure as he could before he came. She put her hands on his waist and changed the angle of her pelvis to direct the friction to all the right spots, and felt herself tighten, on the edge of orgasm. He placed his mouth back on her breast, propped himself on one elbow, and brought his other hand down to seek her clit. Finding it, he applied pressure with his thumb and drove all the way in one last time. Fred gasped out his name as she climaxed, clenching around him, and he came hard, spilling his seed into her.

Propped on his elbows, Wes slowed his breathing and studied her face. Her eyes were closed and her expression was blank, with only a faint smile playing around her lips. Unable to resist, he kissed her again and was elated when she opened for him, kissing back happily. Loath to unjoin from her, he nevertheless forced himself to get up after a minute, fearing his weight was crushing her. She made a sound of protest as he left her, frowning, but kept her eyes closed and refused to immediately move. Wesley drank in the sight of her, spread on his desk, with her skirt rucked up to her hips and her blouse tangled beneath her. Her breasts rose and fell gently with each breath, creamy skin tinted golden by the desk lamp, and he wanted nothing more than to watch her forever.

His contentment was abruptly shattered by a knock on the door. He leapt toward it, heedless of his own nudity, hissing at Fred, “Hide! I’ll get rid of them.” Raising his voice, he called out, “Hold on a minute! Don’t come in!”

Fred chose not to be insulted, knowing that he was attempting to protect her reputation rather than his own, and said, “No. I’ll handle this.” Wes turned back to her, confused. Smoothly, she hopped off the desk, shed her remaining clothing, and shrugged on the shirt that had so recently served as her pillow. Buttoning it as she walked across the room, she checked to make sure it covered everything important, then commented to Wesley, “You might want to stand *behind* something.” With that, she flung the door wide.

Angel stood there, the annoyance on his face quickly melting to shock as he took in Fred, *en dishabille*, the wreck of the office behind her, and the scent of sex in the air. He opened his mouth to speak, and caught sight of Wesley, who would have appeared to be nonchalantly reading a book, if he hadn’t been naked and the book upside-down. At this, years of learning to communicate socially with humans evaporated, and Angel closed his mouth.

“Angel.” Fred’s voice brought his eyes gratefully back to her face. “Did you want something?”

An easy question. He nodded.

“Was it urgent?”

He had no idea. Deciding that meant the answer was probably ‘no’, Angel shook his head. Fred looked at him expectantly, but he continued to stand there, so finally she took him by the shoulder and turned him gently around. “If you need Wesley or myself, call the extension. Otherwise, we’ll be in your office in about an hour.” She stepped back into Wesley’s office and closed the door. Angel heard the lock click into place.

Fred returned to Wes, slowly unbuttoning the shirt. Sitting down in his lap, she said, “We’re expected in Angel’s office in an hour. What *will* we do until then?”

Wes was certain the answer didn’t involve computer modeling or Central American mysticism. He put his hands on her waist and kissed her again.

***

After the christening of his desk (and the resounding lack of explanation they gave for it in Angel’s office later), Wesley resolved to simply savor the moment and not hope for more. That was impossible, of course, but it seemed prudent. When he finally got back to his apartment the next evening, after finishing the day-long assignment Angel had given him, he decided to call Spike. He wasn’t sure how much he was going to tell him, but he was sure Spike would already have put together most of it. Which was… useful, he supposed.

He had picked up the phone when it rang in his hand. “Wyndham-Pryce,” he said without thinking.

“Sounds like a fancy hotel,” Fred joked.

“What?” Surprised to hear her voice and completely at a loss, he scrambled to pull together a coherent response. “Oh. Yes, I suppose it does.” He paused. “I always answer it that way at the office. It’s, ah, been a long day.”

“That’s true.” She took a breath. “I, um, meant to come by and talk to you today, but I just got so busy…”

*Here it comes*, he thought. “Of course. I quite understand. I shouldn’t worry about it if I were you. We can… talk now, if you’ve something to say.”

“Oh. Uh…” She hesitated, then said, “What’s with you? You sound all British suddenly.”

“I am British,” he replied stiffly.

“Well, yeah, but… oh, never mind.” Her voice became less certain. “I just called to see if maybe you… wanted me to come over… but you seem… tired, so maybe we should just forget it.”

“Come. Over?” His brain seemed to have shut down. Unsurprising, really; no reason to expect it to function without blood. “Do you mean so that we could – I mean – that is to say – you want to…?”

“Have the kind of fun that doesn’t require clothing?” She said it brightly, but he could still hear wariness in her voice. Here she was offering exactly what he wanted, and he was pushing her away. He kicked himself as she asked, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said too quickly. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. As I said, it was a long day. But – please believe me when I say that nothing is more likely to make it better than you coming over.”

“That sounds a little more like it,” she said. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Um, great,” he managed. “Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

Wes glanced around wildly. Owing to his habitual neatness, his apartment was fairly clean. All evidence of Spike’s last visit had been cleared away, except… the tape in the VCR. He retrieved it and, in a move that he realized was paranoid even as he did it, tossed it out the window. Thus prepared, he sat down to wait.

The twenty minutes that passed before she arrived seemed like as many hours.

***

And so it went. They fell into a relationship in much the same way they had fallen into bed: quickly, passionately, and as a complete surprise to Wesley. It was several weeks before he really allowed himself to believe it wasn’t going to end unexpectedly at any moment, but eventually he relaxed and began to plan on waking up with Fred. They enjoyed each other immensely, each being fascinated by the things the other knew, and they could as easily spend an evening arguing the truth behind transubstantiation as fucking on the coffee table.

They soon established a pattern: they left Wolfram& Hart separately, to shower and change, and then one of them would show up at the other’s place with take-out. They ended up at Wesley’s apartment more often, and after a while Fred felt as if half her clothes were there and the other half at the office. She didn’t really mind – with the exception of this year, she had lived alone only in Pylea, and it wasn’t as if that was a period she wanted to revisit.

On weekends, demon-fighting permitting, they took little trips. San Diego, Santa Barbara, Napa Valley. Sometimes she wished they could just spend the day in bed at his apartment, but he seemed curiously reluctant whenever she suggested it. Eventually she figured out that this, like red wine and black lingerie, reminded him too sharply of Lilah. She invited him to spend a weekend at her place instead, and he agreed. She made pancakes and cancelled her subscription to the New York Times; he brought work and discussed it with her. It was sufficiently different that it didn’t pain him, and after he left a particularly extravagant flower arrangement on Lilah’s grave, they spent weekends at her apartment often.

Spike was happy for them, but he found he missed Wes more than he’d counted on. He tried hanging out with Gunn, but while the black man was great to fight back-to-back with, Spike couldn’t get over how *young* he seemed. Maybe it was his Americanness, or his idiom, but Spike just couldn’t connect with him. And all that legal-eagle stuff bored the vampire to tears. It wasn’t as if the Watcher hadn’t slipped into lecture mode on occasion, but at least he talked about spells and demons. It was boring, but it was relevant. Tax-code and environmental statutes meant nothing to a 130-year-old vampire with a soul.

As Fred and Wesley settled into their couplehood, they made Spike welcome, but he felt like an interloper. Still, it was better than nothing, so he went and let Fred cook him dinner and discussed battle-axe tactics with Wes. Then he went home and considered starting back up with Harmony.

One night after Spike had gone, something occurred to Wesley. At first, he pushed it aside as ridiculous, but over the following days the idea seemed to take root in his head. When Spike came to dinner the next week, Wes watched both him and Fred closely, and he decided that it was at least worth bringing up.

Surprised at his own boldness, he mentioned it to Fred. “Don’t… take this the wrong way, or feel at all pressured, but… what do you think about inviting Spike,” *deep breath, old man, and get ready to dodge if she throws crockery*, “to join us in bed?”

Fred, who had opened her mouth to agree before he finished his sentence, shut it with a snap and stared at him blankly. Spike? *And* Wes? She pictured it accidentally, and was held briefly spellbound. Shaking her head to clear the image, she tried to consider the idea more rationally. Would it spoil what she and Wes already had? No, she decided, Wes had wanted her for a long time before they ever slept together, and his thirst hadn’t appeared to slacken with actually having her. So… whatever he wanted with Spike was outside this. Which only left the question of whether she wanted Spike, and what that meant. She did, she admitted, want Spike, but not more than she wanted Wes. And it wasn’t as if it were possible to have a relationship with him. So that was all right as well.

She knew there had to be more behind Wes’s suggestion, but she understood her lover well enough to know that asking him to explain now would simply cause him to back off. Vowing to pry it all out of Spike later, she looked up and smiled at Wes.

“Let’s do it.” After a moment, she laughed and reached up to kiss his shocked expression away. He responded, but she could feel his tension. Pulling back, she said, “What? You’re allowed to suggest a threesome, but I’m somehow wrong to agree?”

“No, it’s just…” He frowned. “I was surprised, that’s all.”

Surprised and unexpectedly jealous, she read from his expression. It seemed he’d thought about it, but perhaps not actually imagined Spike’s hands on her until just this moment. She took pity on him, and didn’t push. “Mm-hmm. Well, there’s one thing I think we should get clear before you even mention this to Spike.”

“Just *one* thing? I mean, of course. What is it?”

“I love you, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.”

The look on his face was intensely gratifying. “Oh.” After a moment, he managed, “I love you as well, you know.” Then his lips met hers, and they adjourned to bed without another thought of Spike.

***

The next evening, Wes pounded on Spike’s door, a bottle of whisky in his hand. The vampire answered almost at once, looking worried as he took in the man standing there. “What’s wrong? Did Fred kick you out? Are you all right?”

Wes smiled. “Calm down. Nothing’s wrong. Fred’s working late, that’s all. I thought we could have a drink or two until she’s ready to go home.”

“Oh.” Spike took the bottle and stepped back, still peering suspiciously at him. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course,” Wes soothed. “Nothing is wrong. In fact, things are going so well that I have a sort of favor to ask.”

“Oh. All right, then. Ask away.”

“Give me a drink first, would you?”

Noting the man’s nervousness, Spike poured generously and handed over the glass. Trying to put Wes at ease, he said seriously, “Wesley. I don’t want to go all sentimental on you, but you know I’d do almost anything for you and Fred, don’t you?”

“I don’t doubt your friendship, Spike, but this is a somewhat delicate request, and it rather depends on personal preference, and…” He trailed off.

“Delicate? Preference? You’re not making a whole lot of sense here, Percy. Just spit it out.”

“I suppose if Fred wasn’t offended, you shouldn’t be,” Wes muttered, half to himself. At Spike’s impatient glare, he said, “All right. How would you feel about a ménage a trois?”

Thrown by what he mistakenly took for a change in topic, Spike said, “Huh? Well, I’ve been in a few, of course. Not for everyday, but as a change of pace they can be fantastic. There was this one time in Paris… bloody fantastic. Now, are you talking two blokes and a broad, or… bollocks.” He finally caught up with himself, and the color drained from his face as he looked at Wes. “You’re talking about you and Fred. You, and me, and Fred.”

Wes met his eyes. “Yes.”

Spike attempted to recover. He grinned, only a little shaken. “So Fred’s a bit kinky, eh? Should’ve guessed, really. You know what they say about the quiet ones. I would’ve paid to see your face when she brought it up, though.”

“Actually,” Wes said blandly, “You appear to have broadened my horizons more than you realize. It was my idea.”

Spike sat down before his knees could give out. “Oh. Right.” After a second, and a drink of whisky, he managed, “Are you sure about this? I’ve never tried it with a *couple* before. It’s not for everyone. And… does Fred know about… us? Before?”

“No. But I will tell her, if you’re of the opinion that I should.”

Momentarily warmed by the fact that someone had such faith in his opinion, Spike laughed. “I don’t know. God, Wes, I don’t think I’ve been this surprised in half a century.”

“Does that mean you’re in?”

The vampire smiled. “I guess so. Just remember, it anything goes wrong – this was your idea.”

“Noted.”

***

Spike took a deep and unnecessary breath before putting up his hand and knocking on the door of Wesley’s apartment. In his other hand he held a bottle of expensive champagne that he had actually paid for. Well, charged to Angel’s expense account, really, but the poof hadn’t put him on payroll yet and he figured a magnum of bubbly was, in fact, the very least Angel owed him. As he waited for the door to open, he found himself wishing, for the first time in many years, that he had a reflection.

Wesley answered the door and Spike stepped inside, taking in the preparations that had already been made. The lights were set to a soft dimness; a vague, slightly spicy incense perfumed the air. Three glasses and an ice bucket with a bottle of Chablis chilling in it stood on the coffee table. Spike, remembering, handed his bottle to Wesley, who examined the label, murmured, “Better,” and switched it with the Chablis. Through an open door Spike could see the bed, freshly made with high thread-count sheets and piled high with pillows.

Fred came out of the bathroom just then and froze, clearly not quite prepared for Spike’s arrival. She looked at him, wide-eyed and almost frightened; he looked at Wes, who seemed torn between appreciation of her brief negligee and sudden apprehension about the whole idea. It was all at once too much, and Spike laughed. After a moment, Wes joined in, then Fred, and when they finished laughing they found that they were still themselves, and this was just sex.   
Together, they sat companionably on the couch, and Wes poured champagne. 

They sipped for a moment, until Spike, afraid that trepidation would return with silence, said, “So.” Unfortunately, that was all he could think of. Wes seemed to have gotten the point, though; he spoke.

“Right. Shall we begin?”

The precise British voice, the formal wording – he looked, suddenly, like a proper English schoolmaster who had mysteriously lost half his clothes. Fred dissolved in giggles, and they were all off again. When she could breathe, she looked at Spike. With a grin, she said, “I think that you, sir, are overdressed.”

Wes kissed her in appreciation, and smiled. “I believe I can remedy that.” Motioning for Spike to stand, he went around behind him and stripped the duster from his shoulders. He pulled the T-shirt off over Spike’s head, then said, “Take off your belt.” Spike complied, and Wes came back around him, raising an eyebrow at Fred for approval. She smiled, but before she could speak, Spike said, “Thanks, mate,” and pulled Wes toward him for a kiss. He made the kiss a deep one, ravishing the taller man’s warm mouth with his tongue, aware of Fred watching them with fascination and rising excitement. Wes staggered a little when he released him, and Spike gave him a little shove towards Fred, who eagerly took up where Spike had left off. Spike sat down to take off his boots.

When he was done, he stood up and tapped Fred on the shoulder. She broke the kiss and turned to him, and he bent his head to capture her lips, sliding one arm around her waist to gather her to him. He looked at Wes as he kissed her, and saw the jealousy-hurt-anger-sadness that flashed briefly over Wesley’s face before he got it under control. Spike wanted to do this, but not at the expense of Wes’s happiness. He made sure he had caught Wes’s gaze, then extended his free hand to the man, who hesitantly took it. Spike laced his fingers through Wes’s and squeezed gently, trying to convey reassurance, friendship, loyalty. Most of all, trying to convey that he would stop, take his hands off Fred, and leave, if that was what Wes needed. After a second, Wes smiled. Reclaiming his hand, he began to massage Fred’s neck and shoulders, dropping kisses down her spine. She instinctively arched her neck, making it difficult for Spike to continue kissing her; he adapted, stepping back so that he could use his mouth on her throat, her cleavage, and those fascinatingly sharp collarbones.

Fred shivered, her eyes closed, savoring the delicious feeling of warm hands and lips exploring her back – and cold ones wandering her front. Her breath came out on a sigh, and the soft sound so inflamed Wesley that he spun her sharply around, pulling her tight against him. Grinding her against his erection, he dropped his head into the curve of her neck, and as her hands came up to play with his hair, he forgot Spike entirely. Until the vampire stepped close against Fred – she could feel his hard-on against the small of her back – and placed both his hands, fingers spread, on Wesley’s ass. Wes looked up in surprise, and Spike kissed him before turning his attention to Fred’s shoulder blades.

Spike’s hands effectively locked the three of them together, and for a minute they almost seemed to be dancing to inaudible music. Fred was enjoying the men plastered to her; she had never felt quite so wanted. The friction was good for both men: a little too good, in fact. Wes straightened suddenly, breathing hard. “Bedroom. Now, I think.”

Fred fastened her arms around his neck and looked up expectantly. Smiling ruefully, Wes swept her up into his arms and carried her toward the bedroom. Spike went around them and got there first. As Fred’s feet touched the ground, he took both her hands in his and drew her a little away from Wes. Sliding his hands up under the hem of her teddy, Spike murmured, “This being his idea and all, I think our boy over there should get to go first. Any objections?” She shook her head. “Good. Now, since I figure he likes looking at you a little more than he likes looking at me, *this* has got to go.” Spike deftly pulled the negligee over her head, leaving her nude. She turned to Wes, who immediately came forward to fill his hands with her. Spike circled around behind him and pushed down his pants. Then he pulled Wes over to the bed, and Fred pushed him back onto it. As she started to situate herself between his legs, though, Spike said, “Allow me?”

Curious to see what he would do, Fred moved aside. Spike knelt and applied his mouth to the inside of Wesley’s thigh, nibbling gently on the smooth skin, moving slowly, almost imperceptibly toward his crotch and his already straining cock. Impressed, Fred watched for a moment, until Wes’s ragged breathing reminded her to participate. Leaning over him from the side, she made sure her breasts brushed his chest, then bestowed feather-light kisses all over his face. He nearly whimpered at the double tease; she took pity on him and kissed him deeply, trailing long fingers over his chest to caress and stroke. Wes cupped one hand around a breast, fondling it as he inserted his tongue in her mouth and fastened the other on her waist. He retained enough presence of mind to keep her high on his chest, out of Spike’s way. Spike, meanwhile, had finally gotten to Wesley’s cock and begun licking up and down the shaft. With Fred pinning Wes down, he was free to take his time, but he figured Wes had held out long enough. He took the tip in his mouth, using his hands along the man’s length to bring him to the brink, then swallowed as much of him as he could take. Wes came, curling his toes and inadvertently tightening his hold on Fred. She squeaked; Spike, standing up, chuckled and kissed her. She kissed back eagerly, and Wes, briefly abandoned, was nonetheless gratified as he saw her ravish Spike’s mouth for the taste of him.

After a second, Wes sat up and pulled Fred down onto the bed. He exchanged a look with Spike; they grinned, together, in a way that Fred found slightly alarming. The next thing she knew, Spike was behind her, her back against his chest, his arms folded firmly around her waist. She turned her head and kissed him firmly. Wes had taken over Spike’s position at the foot of the bed; he spread her legs and placed them on his shoulders as he bent his head to the place where they met. Using just the tip of his tongue, he laved her outer lips gently, working his way slowly toward her center. When he finally parted her inner lips and slipped his tongue inside, she gasped, and tried to buck up into his mouth. Spike had been watching her reactions; he anticipated this one and swung a leg over her to hold her down, leaving Wes clear access. Wes began fucking her with his tongue as Spike, straddling her midsection, bent nearly double to nibble softly on her breasts. Spike’s weight made it impossible for her to draw a full breath: she was soon surviving on short, sharp gasps, the hyperventilation leaving her light-headed and even more susceptible to sensation. Wes then replaced his tongue with two fingers, moving his mouth to suck on the tight bud that was her clitoris, while Spike moved his head up and fastened his (human) teeth on her neck, biting down enough to cause brief pain. She came with a low scream, arching her back so gymnastically that Spike slid to one side, and lay utterly still for several seconds, glassy-eyed as a doll.

Wes and Spike shared a look of mutual satisfaction with their handiwork. Then Wes extended his hand, still slick with Fred’s juices, to Spike, who lapped at it eagerly, then kissed his way up that arm until his lips met Wes’s mouth. Wes opened his lips and their tongues tangled, never pausing, until Wes tore himself away for air. He glanced at Fred, but she was still a little out of it, so he helped Spike nudge her higher on the bed until there was a good clear spot at the foot for them both to kneel. Then Spike turned him around, working his mouth over the corded muscle of Wes’s back. It was one of the few unmarked areas on the Watcher’s body; Spike worried bits of it with his teeth, leaving temporary evidence of his presence. As he worked, his hands spread Wesley’s ass, fingers stroking around his entrance. He looked up to search for lube, only to find Fred already spreading it onto his fingers. He pressed himself against the man’s back, tilting his head to suck Wes’s earlobe as he slid a finger inside; Fred’s long fingers slipped between them to lubricate his cock. She stroked for a second or two longer than necessary, then moved around in front of Wes to kiss him deeply. As he gathered her close, she was pleased to feel he was hard again, and she wrapped her slippery hand around him just as Spike replaced his fingers with his cock. As soon as he was fully inside Wes, Spike looked up and caught Fred’s eye. She immediately took the cue, opening her thighs and sinking down onto Wes’s erection. His eyes went wide, and he froze. Spike applied his tongue to the nape of Wes’s neck and began to move slowly within him; Wes perforce picked up the rhythm and put his hands on Fred’s hips to rock her gently. Spike arched his pelvis to hit Wes’s prostate and reached a hand in to provide a little extra stimulation for Fred. If he timed this right, he could…

A twist of his hips, a scrape of his fingernails, and they all came together, emitting a fascinating collection of noises even they couldn’t sort out. Wes, breathing hard, swayed sideways as Spike slid out of him, retaining just enough control to aim his head at the pillow. He felt boneless and utterly relaxed; his skin hummed with pleasure and he felt almost perfect. Then Fred snuggled in next to him, holding onto his hip, and Spike collapsed on his stomach on his other side, one arm flung across them both, and Wes mentally deleted the ‘almost’ as he drifted off to sleep.

***

Fred woke up sandwiched between two male bodies. Wesley curved around her from behind, his knees fit to hers, his breath tickling her neck, one hand running under her waist to splay flat on her stomach. *His* other arm stretched past her, with that hand fastened securely on Spike’s hip. Spike. Who lay firmly pressed to her front, so much so that her breasts were smushed between them. Her head was tucked under his chin, and one of his hands rested on her shoulder blade to lock them together. His other arm arched over her, and while she couldn’t actually see where it ended, from the angle she was pretty sure his hand was on Wesley’s ass.

She smiled in delight, and resisted the compulsion to wriggle. She could feel both men’s morning erections, and she knew if she started moving in a certain way, they would wake up and the, um, festivities would start all over again. She was certainly not against that, but if they were going to spend all day in bed (and she really hoped they were), they would need something to sustain them.

She climbed very carefully out of bed, touching both men as little as possible. Both stirred, slightly, and she held her breath while she waited for them to subside. After a second, they settled back in, shifting closer together to eliminate the space she had left. Fred grinned at the picture they made, the dark-haired man and the bleached blond, then gingerly covered them up so that they wouldn’t be wakened by the chill.

After slipping on a robe (Wesley’s – it was warmer and his scent clung faintly to it), she went into the kitchen. She started the coffee, using Wes’s favorite Jamaican Blue Mountain, generally saved for special occasions. While it was brewing, she took the blood they had gotten for Spike out of the refrigerator and mixed it according to Harmony’s recipe (four parts pig to one part otter). She put it in the microwave and heated it on low, keeping a careful watch to make sure it didn’t boil. She knew Spike would want it hot, but she thought boiling it might change the taste, and she didn’t want that. She still remembered the last time she had tried to make Wesley tea – he’d said it was ‘stewed’, and while she wasn’t sure what that meant, she thought it had something to do with boiling it too long. Stewed blood sounded even worse than stewed tea, and she intended to avoid it if she possibly could. Finally, she mixed the batter for French toast, then set it aside and laid out the table.

With everything in readiness, she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and fix her hair. Amused at her own vanity, she padded back into the bedroom and took off Wes’s robe, donning instead the short silk nightgown she’d tossed on the floor sometime the previous night. Draping herself across the doorway in what she hoped was a sexy way, she called softly, “Good morning, boys.”

Gratifyingly, they woke immediately at the sound of her voice, both looking slightly startled. Then Spike grinned and pulled Wesley’s head down to his for a thorough good-morning kiss. Wes returned it firmly, then got out of bed and seized Fred to pass on the greeting. She melted against him for a moment, then pulled away and informed them both, “Breakfast will be ready by the time you throw on some clothes, brush your teeth, et cetera. I’ll be in the kitchen.” Wes grunted acknowledgement and eased past her to the bathroom; Spike stopped her as she started to turn away.

“Don’t I get a kiss?”

“Of course.” At his come-here-then look, she shook her head. “You have to come and get it. I’m not chancing falling back into bed before breakfast.” He grinned, reassured of his seductive power, and sauntered over to her. She responded to the deep, open-mouth kiss he bestowed on her, but when he tried to slide a hand up her thigh she slapped it away. “*After* we eat. Now borrow some boxers or something. No breakfast without clothing.”

She returned to the kitchen to make the French toast, and by the time the men emerged a decent pile had appeared. Wes came to the table bare-chested, wearing only black sweatpants, but he had also put on his old glasses, which always made Fred want him to take her that instant, no matter where they happened to be. Spike, on the other hand, had clearly gone through Wes’s things until he found the one and only pair of silk boxers; the deep blue that Fred had bought to bring out Wesley’s eyes make Spike’s almost seem to glow.

They sat down to breakfast and she handed them their mugs. Both thanked her absently, then looked up in surprise at the taste of the contents. Wes gave her a smile, one of those slow ones that worked its way up his face until it lit his eyes, while Spike just lifted his mug in tribute. For several moments no-one spoke, as they all applied themselves to the food. Fred, uncharacteristically, was almost too excited to eat, and finished first. She noticed that Spike was eating desultorily, just to keep them company, and decided to take advantage of it.

She got up and reseated herself in Wesley’s lap, motioning him to continue eating. He looked puzzled but complied, merely hooking an arm around her waist to steady her. She leaned toward Spike and raised an eyebrow. He understood immediately and moved his chair closer to Wesley’s, leaning in to kiss her. As they made out, he tried to entice her into his own lap, but she resisted, prompting Wes’s arm to tighten around her. He paused in eating to admonish Spike, “No cheating.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Smiling, he recaptured Fred’s lips and this time kissed her softly, nibbling gently before sinking in, parting her lips and slipping in his tongue to tangle with hers. As Fred was drawn into the incredibly sensual kiss, Spike reached a hand up to trace soft circles on the back of Wesley’s neck. This, combined with Fred’s inability to sit still in his lap, was finally too much for Wes. He shoved aside his plate and hauled Fred more firmly into him, claiming her mouth himself. She felt him harden under her thighs and shifted on him in response.

Wes groaned and Fred flashed him a grin as she bent down to kiss his neck and chest. As she did so, Spike came around behind her, fastened his hands on her breasts under the silk, and bent his head to kiss Wes. They remained in this awkward position for a minute, Spike and Wes kissing, both caressing Fred, until she popped up between them and said brightly, “Bedroom?”

“Absolutely,” Wes replied, and Spike swung Fred up into his arms and began carrying her away. She grabbed Wes’s hand and pulled him along with them. He kicked the door shut behind them.

The end


End file.
